


All of Me

by ceterisparibus



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Avocados at Law, Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress, Stick is the actual worst, Strict Products Liability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-16 21:03:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Five periods of Nelson, Murdock, and Page's friendship as perceived by each of them.





	1. Afraid to Love Something that Could Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DDLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDLover/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in S1, probably somewhere before Episode 4.

Karen

Foggy stuck his head out of his office. “You hungry?” he asked. “I’m starving. How about tacos?”

Karen immediately imagined the imminent mess of taco shell shards and oily fingerprints. “Not if you expect me to clean up after you.”

“I would never,” Foggy exclaimed, hand pressing indignantly to his chest. He took half a step towards Matt’s office. “He probably doesn’t want any.”

He probably didn’t. Matt was particular about food. Karen would even say he was picky, except it felt rude to call a blind man picky when she assumed his sensitivity had something to do with taste having to work harder to make up for his missing sight. Or something more scientific than that.

“Matt?” Foggy asked, raising his voice, but Karen also heard the slightest trace of reluctance.

Matt’s answer drifted back out from his office. “I’m fine, buddy. Thanks.”

“You need to eat something, Matt,” Karen protested. “It’s almost one-thirty.”

“I brought a granola bar.”

Foggy rolled his eyes at Karen, who rolled hers right back. “What do you say?” he asked hopefully. “You, me, lunch break?”

She looked back at the work in front of her. She was mostly supposed to be drafting some emails—and reorganizing Matt’s schedule, because he apparently didn’t realize that time slots were not a fungible good—but she was also trying to learn more about the law on the side so she could do (some of) the work of actual paralegals. “Sorry, Foggy. I think I only have time for takeout.”

She didn’t offer to go get the tacos for him. Being the primary food runner was not technically in her job description.

“No problem,” Foggy said too quickly. “I’ll get it. What do you want?”

She gave him her order and he scribbled it down on some scrap of paper that was probably important before giving her a dramatic bow, yelling some last warning at Matt about how man cannot live on granola alone. Then he was gone.

Propping her elbows on her desk, Karen clasped her hands behind her head and sighed. Foggy was sweet, and probably the best friend she had at this point, but he so clearly wanted more than she could give him.

Would give?

Could?

She didn’t even know.

But he was so full of light and somehow it didn’t seem fair to either of them to try to add her darkness to the mix. Unfair to him because he didn’t know about it and therefore hadn’t signed up for it. Unfair to her because she needed someone who…would understand.

Hopefully someone with his life marginally more put together, so he could not only understand but help her overcome her past.

Honestly, she’d settle for understanding. But her gaze drifted towards Matt’s office. He had darkness too, and although she hadn’t quite dug up all the details, it made sense from what she knew. Orphaned and blind through adolescence couldn’t possibly be a good combination. Yet here he was: using an expensive law degree to selflessly help the people around him who needed it most. Including her.

Sure seemed like he’d overcome everything.

She waited until it wasn’t immediately after Foggy had left before making her way to his office. She tapped lightly on the door to let him know she was there, but she needn’t have bothered. Foggy was right about his hearing being sharp, as currently evidenced by the fact that he’d slipped his glasses on even though she knew he preferred to work without them.

It was still kind of offensive that he felt the need to wear them around her, but she also told herself that it was selfish to be offended about that.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Just checking in. You know a granola bar really isn’t enough of a lunch.”

Hands still moving rapidly across the ever-refreshing braille dots, he flashed her a brief you’re-right-but-I’m-distracted smile. “Probably.”

“Foggy’s still gonna bring back enough for all of us, you know. You should eat with us.”

“There isn’t time. There’s just not a lot of precedent on this issue, Karen. I need to find some stronger cases, and I still haven’t gone over all those memos we got from discovery.”

“Maybe I could help with that.”

He raised his eyebrows behind his glasses. “Memos?”

“Yeah. I’ve been reading up a bit on, um, intentional infliction of emotional distress…”

He laughed. “Why?”

“Because the more I know about the law, the more helpful I’ll be,” she insisted. “I could do more to help you than just fix your calendar which, by the way, is an insult to calendars everywhere.”

He finally moved his hands away from the braille, signaling that she had his full attention. “You really want to learn?”

“Unless you’re worried I’ll learn too much and surpass you.”

“Oh, you already have. Foggy and I are just trying not to tell you in case you leave us for someplace like Landman and Zack.”

“I think I like it here, actually.” She stepped fully inside his office. “I don’t think you need to worry about me leaving.”

He offered her his I-don’t-quite-believe-you smile. “You could, though. I know you didn’t come to New York hoping to work at a two-person law firm that’s less than a year old.”

That was true. She’d come to New York because it was somewhere she could run. Somewhere she could leave everything behind. Somewhere she could get lost.

She hadn’t expected to be found.

 

Matt

Karen had a crush on Matt but Foggy had a crush on Karen while Matt still remembered the ghost of Claire’s fingers. Strange that he considered them soft when she was usually using them to stab a needle through is skin or something. Anyway, the point was, the office of Nelson and Murdock was like a stack of emotionally-charged kindling just waiting to be lit. And explode.

Which was why he felt guilty for multiple reasons over just how much he enjoyed the fact that Karen was now perched on the edge of his desk, listening to him explain the intricacies of an IIED claim and connect them to their client’s case, wherein coworkers had spread rumors and one doctored photograph. Foggy had complained that looking at the picture had already given him plenty of emotional distress, so Matt assumed it was pretty bad.

“So the plaintiff has to prove each of these four elements to have a case?” Karen asked.

“Exactly.” He tried to disguise his delight in her curiosity, her need to be involved in as much as possible. Given that they’d known next to nothing about her when they’d hired her, he supposed they’d lucked out. But she wasn’t just a great secretary, although she was clearly that. She might possibly make a good friend. Like for Foggy.

Foggy needed more friends. Better friends than Matt.

Karen leaned closer, hair swishing over her shirt. It sounded like a thin material. Which he only noted because it was hot and he wanted her to be comfortable, not because…it wasn’t like the sheerness of the fabric made any difference to him. “And you’re hoping these memos will prove…?”

“That the defendants had knowledge of Mr. Hill’s particular susceptibility,” he answered promptly. “He asked for an extended lunch break so he could fit in his therapy session, which means I can argue that his direct supervisor had, at minimum, constructive knowledge that Mr. Hill was extra vulnerable to harm from this kind of behavior.”

“Why does that matter? He _was_ distressed. And we can prove it by pointing to the fact that he kept missing work and had to go to more therapy sessions and is on…what was the medication again?” She twisted as if trying to read his notes before remembering they were in braille.

“All of that is evidence that he experienced severe distress, but we also have to prove that his distress was what a reasonable person would experience. The mere fact that someone is distressed by something isn’t enough, because then we’d all be overly at risk for liability.”

“Like if I got Foggy’s taco order wrong and it made him quit working here?”

“Right, something like that would be unreasonable." He smirked. “Unless you knew that, for some reason, Foggy has a really bad history with people getting his order wrong, and it makes him think everyone hates him, and you knew he was seeing a counselor because of it, and you knowingly and intentionally got his order wrong regardless.”

“Why am I such a jerk in this scenario?”

He grinned. “Anyway, the supervisor knowing about his therapy sessions is a good start, but our case will be stronger if we can prove the coworkers also should’ve known Mr. Hill’s vulnerability. Then the managers will be vicariously liable for the behavior of the supervisor and the coworkers. Plus, it makes for a more sympathetic story if this goes to a jury trial.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “You like jury trials, don’t you?”

“Probably more than Foggy does. He gets nervous, but he shouldn’t. He’s great; juries love him.”

“Why don’t you get nervous?”

Well, he had a distinct advantage. Hearing everyone’s heartbeat gave him immediate feedback about how they were responding to him, so he didn’t have to second-guess. But that was the sort of thing he could explain to Claire. Never to Karen. He just shrugged. “Helps with stage fright when you can’t see the audience.”

“Sure,” she said in a voice that clearly indicated she wasn’t buying his explanation. But she didn’t push (and he couldn’t quite decide whether or not he was relieved by that). “You should know, Matt, that I think you’re really good out there. I may not have any legal training—”

“You do now.”

The temperature of her skin rose slightly as she blushed and he wished he could see it. “Anyway. I still think you’re pretty, you know, incredible at what you do. How you help people.”

He knew she was attracted to him, but that didn’t stop him from hoping, maybe stupidly, that her words were more than mere flattery. Not that he deserved any genuine admiration from someone like her, who’d been through so much and was still stubbornly fighting to see the good in the world, still stubbornly fighting to _be_ the good in the world. “Thanks, Karen. You’re helping, too.”

“I’m surviving,” she said flatly.

He focused on the chipped corner of his desk, running a finger and over and over the peeling paint. “That’s helping.” Any world with her still in it was a better one.

She was silent for a moment and he was content to just sit there, listening to her heartbeat and her quiet breathing. Then, as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her breathing changed. She was about to speak. “Matt—”

Footsteps outside. “Foggy’s back.” Clearing his throat, he sat up straighter. “You think you can handle those memos now that you know what to look for?”

She slid off his desk. “You got it, boss.”

He listened to her skirt swishing against her legs as she left, then returned his fingers to his braille. Not that he was paying much attention. Back when it had just been him and Foggy, he hadn’t been so easily distracted. Even when Foggy _tried_ to distract him. But every time Karen so much as blinked, she stole his attention.

Stick would call him weak and vulnerable.

Stick would be right.

 

Foggy

Foggy wasn’t an idiot. At least, he knew how to turn the idiocy off when he wanted. Usually. But sometimes it was easier to ignore the facts and just hope for something unattainable anyway.

Like now. Here he was, a respectable adult pining after a woman way out of his league. He’d done it before, but that was usually with…celebrities. Or that other intern at Landman and Zack that he never even spoke to. The _point_ was that it was usually with someone peripheral to his life.

Not someone he saw every day. Not someone he saw flirt with his best friend every day.

If only Matt would stop playing around and flirt back so he and Karen could start dating and Foggy could move on. But something was holding Matt back and if Foggy were a better friend, he’d ask him about it. But Foggy’s just selfish enough to hope Matt keeps holding back, even if that would be a colossal mistake on Matt’s part, because maybe then Karen would give up and….

Foggy resisted the urge to smash his head into the door at the office. Instead, he opened it like a grownup and walked in, ignoring the fact that Karen had just recently sat back down at her desk. He didn’t need to know what she and Matt had been doing.

Probably nothing, because Matt Murdock seemed to be taking his default mode of self-denial and finally, _finally_ applying it to gorgeous women.

Spectacular timing, Murdock. Just spectacular.

“Tacos,” Foggy announced. “Enough for everyone, and that includes you, Matt, because I know you can smell this goodness and I know it’s making you rethink your martyrdom.”

He appeared magically and soundlessly in his doorway. “You’re my hero.”

Karen was already dividing up the spoils. “How much do I owe you?”

He waved that off. “Don’t worry about it. I trust you and Matt have been putting in billable hours, so we’re all good.”

“He’s been teaching me about IIED.”

Foggy gasped in horror at Matt. “You’re training her to replace me! I _knew_ it.”

“I gave her grunt work, Fogs. She’s looking at the internal memos from Mr. Hill’s employer.”

“It starts with memos. It ends with her delivering an impassioned opening statement while I sit at home. You know a jury would respond better to her than to me. _Look_ at her!”

Matt turned his blank stare onto Karen. Or maybe onto the wall behind her. “Yeah, I see your point.”

“Shut up, you two,” Karen said, but she’s laughing.

It was possibly the most beautiful sound Foggy had ever heard, at least up there next to Matt’s adorable I’m-drunk-and-finally-happy giggle, but he’d take that secret to his grave, thank you very much. He helped himself to a taco, enjoying the perfect balance between crunchy shell, warm meat, and crisp lettuce. He could appreciate a good taco. It was the little things in life.

Like this moment, right here, with his favorite person and someone else who was shaping up to be another favorite person. Nelson and Murdock and Karen Page. Good things always came in three, right? Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, and Princess Leia. Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Padmé. Except those were the sequels and they didn’t count. He and Matt and Karen were nothing like the sequels anyway. No heart-breaking “you were my brother” speeches in their friendship, that much was for sure.

No, Foggy had not cried at that scene. Why would you even ask that?


	2. I'm So Close to What I Can't Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few scenes at the beginning of S2 following Castle's attack on the hospital, Matt's recovery from being shot, and the beginning of the Castle case.

Karen

The screams from the hospital echoed in her ears. She’d been stalked like prey through a building where she was supposed to be safe.

She still couldn’t get the screams out of her head. She blinked and turned on the sink in her bathroom if only because the sound of running water grounded her. She was here. She was home.

And her mirror was normal, so why was her reflection distorted?

She couldn’t recognize herself anymore, no matter how hard she tried.

It just kept happening. Again and again and again. Little things chipping away at everything she thought she was. First Union Allied and Daniel Fisher. Even signing that stupid confidentiality agreement, which still felt like a compromise.

If only she could say that was the worst thing she’d done since coming to New York.

She felt the weight of Westley’s gun in her hand and how _dare_ she fall to pieces in fear because of the Punisher shooting at her when she’d personally taken Westley’s life?

Twisting her fingers together, she bit her trembling lip and turned away from the mirror. She wanted…she didn’t know what she wanted, exactly, other than to not be alone.

But she couldn’t…there was no one. Foggy was busy and, more than that, he wouldn’t understand. Matt? She’d thought, when she’d visited him to report on everything Reyes had said, that maybe he’d offer some comfort. But he’d scoffed at the mere thought that the Punisher could be a good person. Maybe that wasn’t so irrational of him after all, but it didn’t seem like a very big leap from the Punisher to her, and that meant….

Yes, he’d held her, but only when she’d been terrified of being shot…not because she was terrified of the fact that she’d shot someone else.

If Matt knew…if he ever found out…she clenched her teeth. _There’s been something in your voice,_ he’d said. She swallowed something rising up in her throat. Maybe it was a scream or a sob or maybe she was about to throw up.

The thought flashed into her head: call Dad. But she knew better by now.

She focused on oxygen. Oxygen was important. She couldn’t afford to fall apart right now. Maybe this weekend. Maybe in a month. But tonight, she had to be there to help Grotto, to keep him calm and keep him alive. This couldn’t be about her and her problems anymore.

Moving on auto pilot, she brushed her hair and her teeth and applied her makeup. Then she stared down her reflection until it warped back into something recognizable.

“That’s it, Karen,” she whispered. “Big picture. You’re fine.”

 

“Stay away from this case.” Reyes opened the vehicle door and Karen had to step back until the D.A. was safely inside her little car. The police were still cleaning up the crime scene and their client was gone.

Karen whipped around to advance on Foggy. “Nothing,” she hissed at him. “Not even a _little_ support?”

“All the legal kung-fu in the world wouldn’t have won that fight,” he protested. “Her office could bury us. We shouldn’t have pushed it.”

She cast a disbelieving look back at the crime scene. “ _You_ didn’t push anything.”

Grotto was in the wind, probably one breath away from getting killed, and whatever Matt was doing or wherever he was, she didn’t know about it, and Foggy…Foggy just let Reyes steamroll over them and he couldn’t even think up a clever lie to cover for Matt even though they both knew that was exactly what he was doing.

Fine.

“I’m going back to the office,” she said flatly. Better to keep moving. Better than going home, although not for much longer, not if Reyes did manage to frame their firm for this disaster. At least here, she could do something.

But once inside, she locked the door and gave herself one second, just one, to wish things were different.

Then she got back to work.

 

Matt

Josie’s didn’t exactly smell great, or sound great, or even taste great. But Karen…everything about her was wonderful.

She’d been the first thing he’d heard when his hearing came back after Frank Castle’s bullet.

And he’d missed it. She’d been upset—about the shooting, obviously, but something more. It was that same darkness that had lingered since…well, he wasn’t sure exactly when. His own life had been busy falling apart. Sometime around when Foggy discovered his secret, something had happened to her and she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him, but it was still there, and he’d missed his chance. She’d been shaken up enough after the Punisher shooting that, thinking back now, he wondered if she would’ve revealed it if he’d asked.

He told himself it wouldn’t have been fair to take advantage of her vulnerability like that.

He also told himself that was a pretty convenient excuse while his friend suffered. Still suffered even now that the Punisher had been arrested, if her shaky laughs were any indication. Probably a number of reasons for that.

But he just wanted her to be happy, so he risked putting his hand on her arm. Enjoying the softness of it was just a nice side effect. “What’s your brother like?”

She started talking. Slowly, but then like she couldn’t keep any of it back. The words fell on top of each other and she had so many stories he wondered why he hadn’t known about her brother before.

 _You never asked_ , she’d said.

He should’ve asked. Should’ve broadened his focus to something beyond everything between him and Fisk, or him and Foggy. Shouldn’t have let her get shuffled off to the side any more than he'd let her get caught up in the middle of things.

But something was nagging at him. Her voice was shyly happy, but there was a lie in her heartbeat and he couldn’t figure out why.

 

“Do you mind the rain?”

As long was with her, he didn’t mind anything. She slipped her fingers against his and he let her tug him lightly down the sidewalk. Each raindrop landing on her skin created a picture of her. He wished he could tell her what she looked like to him, lit up by her pulse racing through her veins. And it _was_ racing and he thought he could take some measure of pride in that fact.

Of course, so was his. But he was pretty sure she couldn’t tell.

She was walking him home and that felt a bit like a role-reversal, but it also meant more time with her. He could walk her home later, if she let him. The rain soaked through their hair and their clothes, but it was warm rain and each droplet was a tiny caress. They kept the conversation to light topics. Later, later, he would do more for her. Ask more, listen more, let her talk to him until that thing in her voice disappeared for good.

One small part in the back of his mind pointed out that later, later, would also be a good time to point out that he was Daredevil, or had he forgotten about that?

Daredevil was not forgotten. Just willfully ignored for now. For now, they were building something. He didn’t even want to think about the things that might be able to tear it down.

He stopped outside his apartment, but she kept going. He wanted to follow her—he’d follow her anywhere—but then she was turning around, letting herself be drawn in to face him, smiling and blushing, and he couldn’t believe that he was here with this amazing woman.

Her heartbeat and breathing and everything else invited his touch. When he cupped her face, she leaned into his hand, brushing her lips against his palm, and after that there was nothing he could do to keep from kissing her.

“Can I take you to dinner?”

Her answer was immediate. “Yes.”

“Tomorrow?”

Again. She was nodding before he’d finished.

He wanted so much more. But this, this one perfect moment. It might not last, but at least the memory would. He pulled back to double-check that she was okay, that she knew what she was getting into. (She didn’t, but she seemed so happy.) He smiled.

“Goodnight, Karen.”

“Goodnight, Matt.” She touched his lips once before leaving.

For a moment, he just listened. Made sure she got safely into the cab. Made sure she was on her way home. Made sure this memory between them was preserved, before all the questions and conflict got in the way. He knew they would. She was already worried for him. She knew he was keeping secrets. It was just a question of timing at this point, whether she’d discover the truth herself or if he’d figure out how to tell her. He should probably start figuring out how to tell her, because if she realized the truth on her own, he’d be robbed forever of the chance to give her that explanation.

Matt shook his head sharply, sending raindrops spinning through the air. He wasn’t going to obsess about unknowns and inevitables right now. He was just going to enjoy her. Even her scrutiny was uncomfortable, but, really, when was the last time anyone had cared enough to scrutinize him?

It was uncomfortable but it was also a complement.

Stick would disagree but he thought Stick might be wrong.

 

Foggy

He’d almost lost Matt. If he hadn’t found him on that rooftop…or what about even before the rooftop? What if the helmet hadn’t been so perfect, or that psycho’s shot had been slightly more perfect? Matt wouldn’t have been able to argue about whether the cops or D.A. or Foggy himself could do their jobs without the help of some masked vigilante. Matt would’ve been _dead_.

Good-bye, the end, no second chances. Things unsaid left unsaid forever.

Foggy was furious.

Maybe he wasn’t so much mad at Matt as he was mad at himself.

Okay, no, he was definitely mad at Matt. But still. Foggy knew he had every right (or almost every right, at least) to wonder if their friendship had been based on a lie, and to conclude that, if it had, the lie was Matt’s fault and therefore their broken friendship was also Matt’s fault.

At the same time, what kind of friend was Foggy if he hadn’t noticed…anything? Not throughout the entire course of their friendship? Sure, jumping straight from “Huh, Matt’s kinda off” to “Matt must be a blind ninja superhero” was a bit of a stretch. But still. Shouldn’t Foggy have seen at least some of the signs?

Or maybe he had seen them. He just hadn’t recognized them for what they were. Which excused his failure to arrive at the “Matt’s a blind ninja superhero” conclusion but didn’t seem like much of an excuse for the fact that he hadn’t done anything to help.

A better friend would’ve done something. Asked questions, maybe. Suggested counseling? Ugh. Those options all would’ve seemed painfully futile at the time and they seemed laughably worthless now. Matt wouldn’t have answered questions. Matt wouldn’t have gone to counseling. (Even if he had, he wouldn’t have been capable of honesty. For more reasons than one.)

But a good friend would’ve tried and a better friend would’ve been able to figure something out.

Right?

You know what, though? Foggy Nelson had bigger things to worry about than Matt Murdock’s fragile psyche. Like the freakin’ Punisher, and freakin’ entirety of the D.A.’s office and Reyes with her stubby little heels on his neck.

Which, okay, that came back to Matt too, at least if Marci’s intel was right. Foggy made the mistake of doubting Marci’s intel once, on a research project their first year of law school. Never again. According to her, Reyes wanted to build a campaign against vigilantes, which meant she’d be coming after both sides of Matt’s life.

If only Matt was around enough to notice he was under attack.

“Hey, Foggy?” Karen suddenly stood half-shielded by the doorway. “Will you teach me about mitigating factors?”

“Why not ask Matt?” he shot back, sharper than he’d meant. But Karen always went to Matt first and, well, now they were dating. So.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s not here.”

That explained it. Once again, Foggy Nelson got Matt Murdock’s leftovers.

Foggy was suddenly profoundly thankful that Karen was not skilled in the art of mind-reading such that she would realize he’d just referred to her, even in his own head, as leftovers. Karen was caviar or some kind of seafood coated in gold or…something else expensive that Foggy didn’t know about because he’d said goodbye to anything near expensive the second he agreed to run away with Matt and start a law firm together.

This case was just killing him. Deadlines were already looming and that was all thanks to Reyes. They should be able to object to what she was doing, but Foggy’s head was spinning enough already and this was what partners were for.

“Foggy?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked up.

“You doing okay?”

“Just peachy.”

“I’m serious, Foggy.” She sat on the edge of his desk. “Actually, if you don’t have time, I can just google it until I figure it out. But I don’t want to offend your profession by suggesting google would do a better job explaining how mitigating factors work.”

Matt Murdock did not deserve this woman.

“You’re stressed,” she said. “How can I help?”

Foggy didn’t deserve her either. Obviously. “Can you get footage of Reyes holding the judge at gunpoint so we can motion for a mistrial?”

Her eyes twinkled. “I’m on it.”

He leaned back in his chair as she left. Were things spiraling out of control? Yes. Was this what he'd signed up for when he'd stolen those bagels from Landman and Zack? Absolutely not. But Karen was on his side and Matt was...still alive, at least.

So. There was still a chance that this would all work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back to S2 is rough, y'all.


	3. I Can't Give You Half My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up with That Scene between Matt and Karen and moves on after the end of S2.

Karen

It was fine. She was fine.

No more Nelson and Murdock. No more late nights at Josie’s. No more hearing Foggy’s off-key singing late at night in the office, or listening to Matt recording some oral argument when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? She’d always paid more attention to him than he’d ever given to her. At least now she knew. He was keeping too many secrets of his own to earn the right to knowing any of hers.

She stood in the dark, empty, soon-to-be-abandoned office. If this was all she was worth to him, then so be it. She’d just have to pretend that he’d never been worth more to her.

And yet here she was. Waiting for him. It wasn’t because she wanted anything from him, though, or wanted anything to do with him at all. It was that, between the two of them, she was the one whose word still meant something and she wanted to keep it that way.

The door opened behind her; she turned around and bit back the flash of sympathy at his battered face. He’d never wanted her sympathy and he didn’t deserve it now.

He dropped his cane on the chair as if he didn’t need it. Her hackles rose, but she couldn’t quite pin down why.

“What am I doing here, Matt?” she asked, knowing there was no answer he could give that would satisfy.

He started unfolding that brown paper bag. “I, uh…I have something—”

A Christmas gift? What, did he think that would mean anything to her? “No, I don’t—”

“I have something,” he insisted unsteadily, “that I need you to see.”

Not a gift. What, then? A confession? That wouldn’t mean anything to her either. Not at this point. But her promise echoed in her ears, the promise she’d offered, that when he was ready to tell her whatever was going on, she’d listen.

She could at least listen.

He drew something out of the bag, something that didn’t make sense. The Daredevil mask. Its red eyes glinted in the dim office as if it had a life of its own.

 

One last meeting at Josie’s. Foggy was waiting for her. He opened his arms as soon as he saw her but she didn’t walk into him. Instead, she stood stiffly in front of him and forced the words out of her tight throat. “You knew.”

Foggy’s face broke. “I knew.”

“You _knew_.”

“I’m sorry, Karen. I wanted to tell you. I just…” he had the decency to avert his eyes. “I told Matt I wouldn’t.”

She hoped that one day, she could look at Foggy and not see all the lies. She hated Matt, hated him for ruining her friendships with _both_ of them.

The rational voice in her brain pointed out that Matt may have put Foggy in this position, but Foggy had chosen to stay there. _I should’ve warned you_ , Foggy had said when she’d found that woman in Matt’s bed. Karen had brushed it off because, no, she and Matt could figure themselves out like normal adults.

Now she knew Matt couldn’t be farther from normal if he tried.

“Karen,” Foggy began.

“No. I don’t wanna hear it right now, Foggy. I _can’t_.” She took a steadying breath. “I just needed to know for sure that you knew it too.”

A tear ran down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

She gave an empty laugh. “I’m not. You didn’t owe me anything.”

“We were friends. I owed you the truth.”

“We’re still friends.”

He wiped at his face. “We are?”

“I told you, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Then she stuck her hands in her coat pocket. “I’ve gotta go.”

“What? No, stay. Let’s talk.”

She was already shaking her head. “I’ve gotta get to the office.”

Pain flashed in his eyes. “It’s not—”

“I mean the _Bulletin_.” She pressed her lips together. “Bye, Foggy.”

Because she had two choices: she could let Matt’s secret ruin her life along with his, or she could find a way to live with the truth now that she knew it. Karen had already given herself a day or two just to try out the first option. She’d worked from home, which meant she didn’t do much work but did do a lot of drinking. She’d listened to her saddest music and muffled her sobs with her pillow. She’d buried that stupid St. Patrick’s Day picture in her closet.

Now it was time to get better.

In her office, she turned on her computer and pulled up all the information she’d ever collected on Daredevil. Then she started splicing it together with what she knew of Matt Murdock. First that meant writing everything she knew about Matt Murdock down, so she typed it up as if building a profile for a story. It helped. She thought. Seeing his details there in black-and-white, backlit by the harsh light of her computer screen. It helped her forget that she’d ever known him as a person. Now he was just another story.

Of course, the pieces didn’t fit into a very pleasant story. His childhood—the toxic waste, the blindness, the shooting, the orphanage—was the stuff of nightmares. If hers could be called worse, it was only because her tragedy had been her own fault. He hadn’t asked for anything that happened to him.

He hadn’t started asking for problems until he started lying to the only people who cared about him.

Karen jabbed the next few keys harder than necessary. She was just trying to be objective for once.

 

Matt

He was fine. Honestly, things were better than they had any right to be.

Karen knew the truth now. She’d kept her end of their deal. She’d shown up when he’d really had no right to expect her to. She’d listened, albeit briefly.

Then she’d left. But that was her right. And she hadn’t turned him in to the NYPD or even the New York Bar Association (yet). So.

Oh, and Foggy? Matt had pushed him away himself. Proudly and permanently. Stick would’ve been impressed.

As for Elektra, she was dead, just like Stick wanted. Better dead than the Black Sky.

And he still had…uh, Melvin. A weak laugh escaped him. Maybe he should just go camp out at Melvin’s shop. He could keep Melvin and Betsy safe. That much he was good at: keeping people safe.

Except the people he hadn’t.

All right. So Matt wasn’t really good at anything anymore.

If only he’d—Matt blinked, his thoughts cut off by familiar scent and sound. Stick was waiting for him in his apartment. Matt’s fingers tightened around the paper bag with the Daredevil mask. He still had the chance to just walk away until Stick left.

But for reasons Matt didn’t really want to analyze, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Took you long enough,” Stick called from the living room.

Propping his cane in the corner and setting his glasses on the hallway table, Matt braced himself. He walked around the corner and headed straight past Stick into the kitchen to get himself a beer.

“Which woman was it this time?”

The only one left. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What’d you expect, Matty? That she’d dry your tears and hold you?” Stick gave a loud sniff. “Not after she saw Ellie in your bed, that’s for sure.”

“And whose fault was that?” Matt snapped, slamming the fridge shut. “ _You_ let her in the apartment when I was taking care of Elektra. You—”

“Lied to her face? Nope. That was you, Matty. All you.”

He carefully set the bottle of beer aside. He didn’t need the temptation to throw it. “Don’t pretend that everything that’s happened hasn’t been exactly what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want Ellie to be targeted like that. I was on her side.”

“You wanted—” Matt cut himself off. He didn’t want an argument with Stick; Stick always won those anyway. If he was honest, he wanted a fight.

Slowly, Stick stood up from the couch. “This other woman, there’s no smell of her directly on you. Guess you didn’t get any hugs after all. What’d you want from her anyhow?”

“Nothing.” Then Matt focused all his attention on Stick, wanting to experience the fullness of his teacher’s shock and disappointment. “I told her the truth about me.”

Stick didn’t disappoint. His entire body stiffened even as he let out a what-else-did-I-expect sigh. “You’re an idiot.”

“She deserved to know the truth.”

“You’re an idiot and you’re gonna get her killed too.”

Matt closed his eyes. He deserved that. “Stick, I…”

“What d’you want from me, Matty?”

Matt drifted closer until his fingers brushed over the couch. “How do you do it? How do you live without…without people?”

“It ain’t easy, kid. It takes commitment. Something you’ve never had.” Stick paused. “Guess that’s your trouble. You can’t make ’em stay and you can’t handle living without ’em either.”

“Commitment to what, Stick?” His voice became sing-song. “ _The war?_ ”

“The bigger picture. We’re all fighting wars, anyway. I’ve given up on you ever fighting mine with me, but you at least should be able to fight your own instead of whining about your cry-baby feelings getting hurt because all your friends left you.”

Well, Matt didn’t have a bigger picture anymore.

With another, longer sigh, Stick dropped his hand briefly on Matt’s shoulder. “Half measures, Matty. That’s all you got and that’s no good to anyone.” He pulled sunglasses out of his pocket and slid them on. “Don’t expect me to drop around anymore.”

“I don’t want you to,” Matt said, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears, and Stick didn’t even need to point out the lie that they could both hear.

 

His feet made their way, as if disconnected from his brain, to the church. He didn’t want to talk to Father Lantom or take confession. He didn’t want anything in particular. He just wanted, maybe, to not be alone.

There was singing inside, and the sound of a hushed conversation in the back of the church. The songs had made a young woman cry and one of the nuns was comforting her until the tears slowed.

It was nice. Hearing this, knowing some people still cared about other people, knowing some people were trying to do good. It was nice. Not that he wanted to go inside. It wasn’t like he actually thought he’d burst into flames at the threshold, but still. He didn’t want to disrupt the worship.

That sounded altruistic but the truth was much more selfish. If he didn’t disturb anything, he could find a scrap of comfort knowing that such peace still existed somewhere.

The door opened; the young woman had cried herself out and returned to the service; now the nun was stepping outside, whispering a prayer. If Matt stayed still, she’d run into him. He didn’t have to go find anyone because someone was coming right towards him.

He ducked into the shadows around a corner, jumped onto the brick sign advertising the church, and leapt from the sign to the roof. Then he kept going until he could no longer hear the voices singing. It was better this way.

But he still kind of wished he weren’t alone right now.

Stick would call him a selfish, cry-baby idiot for that.

Stick would be right.

 

Foggy

He kept seeing the Nelson & Murdock sign whenever he closed his eyes. He’d never had anything close to a photographic memory and _this_ was the image that decided to stick around?

Unfair.

He shouldn’t be surprised by all this. He really, really shouldn’t. Since discovering Matt’s secret, their friendship had been hit by more bombs than he cared to count. (He counted them anyway, just to make sure he wasn’t going crazy, just to make sure he really was justified in…all of this.) Someone like Matt was just never going to be normal; there was always going to be another crisis. Matt himself had been painfully clear about that, in his usual unclear way. So it had probably been unfair of Foggy to keep hoping, if only in the privacy of his own brain, that things would just go back to the way they’d been.

And stay that way for once.

Once he recognized that, moving on was marginally easier.

Other factors helped. Like hey, he had a great job. More importantly, he had Marci. He also still had Karen, kind of, which was its own little miracle. So really, the math kind of worked out. If you squinted…or if you were drunk. Which Foggy was. For no particular reason. At Josie’s, which was a bad idea. These days, he only went there when he was resigned to feeling especially maudlin.

Maudlin. An impressive word to come up with in his drunken state. Foggy was proud of himself and a bit disappointed he’d only thought of it in his head, meaning there was no one around to witness it.

Someone sat on the stool next to him, way too heavily for such a small someone. “You sure can pick ’em, Nelson.”

Groaning, he pressed his face into the crook of his elbow on the bar. “Go’way.”

“Believe me, I’d love to,” Jones grumbled.

“Hogarth sent you?”

“Yep.” She popped the p. “’Cuz she thinks you’re special or something.”

“Lucky me.”

She kicked his foot just a bit too hard. Foggy heroically did not cuss her out. “Come back before she fires you.”

“I will.” He needed this job. He even liked this job. And he thought he was doing a good job with this job. Everything about that place—the work, the coworkers, the clients—was different enough from Nelson and Murdock that while he was there, he could actually pretend to be some other person who’d never been best friends with either Matt Murdock or D-Daredevil.

Jones leaned closer. “Tell you what,” she whispered. “Buy me a drink and I’ll give you twenty extra minutes before I haul you outta here.”

“Deal.” He signaled Josie and stoically ignored her disapproving expression. Everything about Josie was disapproving these days. Had she actually liked Matt more than Foggy all these years? Pfff. What an insult. Salt in a raw and bleeding wound.

Jones gulped the drink and stood up. “Thanks.”

“You’re not staying?” Foggy asked blearily.

“This look like it’d be a fun conversation to you, Nelson?”

He couldn’t think up a witty comeback so he fired off a question of his own. “Jones, you’re a superhero, aren’t you?”

“No.” Her voice took on a knifelike edge. A warning to back off.

“You still have friends. How’d that…how’s that work?”

“Bye.” She put the glass down. Maybe slammed it. Probably slammed it, since little cracks were spider-webbing all through it.

“Two drinks!” Foggy called with all the considerable charm he could muster. “ _Two_ drinks.”

Already halfway out the door, she stopped. Muttered something under her breath. Finally, oozing frustration, she slouched back over and slumped on the stool. “Make it three.”

He could do that. See, he was pretty much rich now. He ordered the drinks. “Just tell me?”

“They’re better people than I am,” she said flatly.

“Better how?”

“Just at pretty much everything. I can punch people really hard and I can track down leads. That’s it, Nelson, okay? That’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s _not_ all,” Foggy argued, suddenly very upset by the evidence that she thought she was so worthless. “You help people. You’re a good…you’re a good person. Who helps people.”

She eyed him over the rim of a glass. For a long time. Just kept looking at him. Then she snorted. “See? You’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Making my point.”


	4. You're Worth Every Fallen Tear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set right at the beginning of S3. Angst, my friends. Also, Foggy's drunk again because writing drunk!Foggy is really fun even in the midst of the angst.

Karen

She was fine.

No, no, she really, _really_ wasn’t.

But she was great at pretending.

His place was a wreck after the earthquake. Boxes spilled and jars broken on the ground, his one random painting askew. There were moving boxes, too, with stuff she thought she recognized from Nelson and Murdock. She didn’t look closely before shoving it into the closet next to the chest.

The chest was empty of the suit, but there was something else. A little book? It must’ve been personal for Matt to put it in this chest and for an instant, she thought she should just leave it. That way, when he came back, she could tell him she’d left him some part of his life that she hadn’t poked through trying to put everything back in order.

But what could it hurt?

A lot, apparently. It could hurt a lot.

It was part of a braille New Testament.

For some reason, that stupid thing made tears well up in her eyes. She slammed the chest shut and locked the closet door for good measure.

Next step: sweeping. She dug out a broom and dustpan and set to work restoring the floor to order. But the work was too mindless, leaving too much room for memories to echo around her head.

_I have something that I need you to see._

Why was she still so furious with him? He’d saved her life.

_I don’t need him to be a part of me anymore. And I don’t want him to be._

He’d lied.

_He was your friend and you cared for him and he broke your trust._

Now he was gone and she didn’t even have the chance to sort through all of this with him. At least Foggy had gotten more time to work through the anger and betrayal and humiliation that seemed to inevitably come with learning about Matt’s other life.

Karen hadn’t gotten time. She’d gotten scraps.

Not that she’d exactly welcomed his efforts at reconciliation, not in a way that actually invited any attempt to rebuild…anything. Asking questions wasn’t enough, not with something this complicated. If she’d just been able to forgive him sooner, maybe she wouldn’t feel so unresolved now.

But she’d missed it. And now she missed him.

The truth was, there were still so many beautiful things about Matt Murdock. His devotion to the nameless, hurting people out there, his self-sacrifice, his dry humor. The way he’d made her feel heard, the way he’d made her feel safe. And, yes, his skill at kissing was pretty good. Even his willingness to sacrifice himself for the people he wanted to protect, though infuriating at times, was something neither she nor Foggy could quite match.

“Shut up,” she told herself. Matt Murdock did not get to make her feel guilty. Once he was back, they’d talk. It would take time, but that time would start the _instant_ he was back. He was still her friend; holding him at arm’s length was exhausting.

“Once he’s back,” she repeated aloud, just to hear the words outside her own head.

Then she put on some music and got back to cleaning.

 

Matt

Every part of Matt’s body ached from the beating he’d taken from those thugs last night, but the real ache was far deeper. A combination of guilt and simple apathy. Strange that apathy could hurt.

Slowly, he drew his legs in until he was pressed into a ball. His own body heat beat back the chill seeping through his shirt where his back was pressed against the basement wall. But he was so tired. He’d successfully rescued that father and daughter, but he hadn’t managed to end his own life.

Half measures like always. He wasn’t sure if he felt more shame for what he’d tried to do or for the fact that he’d failed at doing it.

_Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin._

The Scripture chased itself around and around his head.

 _Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered in shame_.

Must be nice.

He must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Maggie was shaking him awake, paying no attention to his pathetic, involuntary groan of pain. He settled into autopilot, letting her words wash over him. Harmless enough as long as she didn’t—

“You’re gonna talk to me,” she announced.

He couldn’t do that. “Why did you become a nun?” he asked instead.

She bought it, or at least didn’t fight him. “I heard God’s call.”

“So you feel like being a nun is what you’re meant to be.”

“Yes. Very much.”

Well, then, Maggie could never understand. God had made her to be a nun and God hadn’t taken that away. He wasn’t sure why it mattered to him whether she understood at all, whether she even listened. “What if you couldn’t be one anymore?” he insisted. “If it were taken from you?”

He could practically taste her skepticism. “Your point being that if we can’t fulfill our calling, we might be better off as worm food?”

“Answer the question.”

She scoffed. “I’ll tell you what I wouldn’t do. I wouldn’t lose _faith_. I’d find some other purpose.”

He shook his head. “If you can be anything else, it was never really your calling. Just tell me honestly. If you could no longer be a nun…wouldn’t you grieve?”

“Of course I would.”

“Then please. Go away.”

She didn’t listen. She never listened. She started talking about considering another life. It was probably supposed to mean something, the fact that she was sharing this with him. It didn’t. He asked questions in the right places, but he didn’t care what she thought or what she’d been through.

When he couldn’t handle it anymore, he started gingerly getting up. “Well, there you go. That is the difference between us. I no longer care what God wants.”

“Oh, right.” She followed him as he made his way to sit on the bed. “Almost forgot. You’ve seen His _true_ face now.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Let her talk. Let her throw his own words back at him all she wanted. None of it meant anything. Part of him wished it did if only because that way, she could feel useful. As things stood, it was just a matter of time before she got tired of never making any progress with fixing him. Then she’d leave.

She cocked her head. “What were you doing under that building anyway? I never asked.”

“Nothing you’d approve of.” That wasn’t necessarily true, of course. He had no idea what she’d approve of. Didn’t really care one way or the other. Just seemed like a safe assumption.

“You can’t possibly know that. Just tell me.”

“It won’t even make sense.”

“Try me.”

Fine. “There was a dragon,” he said tiredly.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “I think. Underground, beneath a building. We collapsed the building into the hole.”

“Not a great plan if you were still in the hole.”

“They weren’t supposed to be.”

“They?” she asked sharply. “Or you?”

Matt felt a headache growing behind his eyes. “Sister, could I get some aspirin?”

“After you talk to me.”

He rubbed the sheet pulled tight against the bed. Crisp and harsh like sandpaper.

“I’m gathering that last night may not have been the first time for you, then.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said automatically. “In the hole, I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t trying to get yourself killed?”

The words were buried somewhere deep in the back of his head. With some effort, he managed to pull them out. “I was trying to help someone. One last time.”

“A friend?”

“No. Not anymore.”

 

Foggy

Fisk was out and society was probably about to collapse, but Foggy was handling things.

He had all of Marci’s support, for one thing. Of course, she wasn’t with him right now. She was off doing…something. Getting something done. She was good at that. Which left him at this bar. Drunk again. At least it was a nice bar. Nicer than Josie’s by far.

Not for long, though. Soon he’d go out and help Marci with…doing all that stuff. For now, he at least managed to crumple up one of Blake Tower’s brochures.

Take that, Tower.

“ _Foggy_.”

Foggy turned his head like you were supposed to when someone was trying to talk to you, and there was a ghost staring back. Except some part in the back of his brain pointed out that this particular ghost probably wasn’t actually doing much staring.

“This isn’t real,” Foggy said, and received a sad little nod for his effort.

“It’s real,” the ghost said.

Foggy almost fell off his stool, stumbling to wrap his best friend in a hug because who knew how long it’d been since anyone hugged Matt. “How? Where? We all thought you were dead!”

“I’m sorry.”

Only Matt Murdock would almost die and then feel the need to apologize for it. Foggy could’ve cried. It wasn’t a ghost. It was really Matt.

His best friend was back.

Except…now he was saying he wasn’t?

“Well, I’m seventy-five percent sure I’m not hallucinating,” Foggy said, about seventy-five percent sure he was missing some stupid joke because Matt’s humor always left something to be desired. That much hadn’t changed either.

“I’m, uh…not back,” Matt repeated deliberately. “Matt Murdock isn’t gonna be a part of me anymore. I’m…leaving him behind.”

Because that made so much sense?

Then he started going on about how he needed Foggy and Karen to stay out of things and at least that was a bit more like normal Matt, a bit less I’m-no-longer-part-of-myself Matt and speaking-in-third-person Matt. Still, Foggy was upset, and he was even more upset that Matt had to ruin this moment _which should be happy_ with his most egregious Matt-ness.

“I need you to stay out of it,” he said, expressionless, “and leave it to me.”

“No,” Foggy said.

Matt paused for what felt like a long time, like it was hard to process that Foggy wasn’t immediately snapping to attention and following orders. “No,” he repeated.

“No,” Foggy insisted. “You don’t get to show up like this and say something like that and expect me to be cool with it.”

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Franklin Nelson, Esquire.

“You’re my _best friend_ ,” he reminded him, because Matt obviously needed reminding, but Matt was already doing that dismissive hand-wave thing.

It had been annoying enough when it was because Matt refused to be swayed from some interpretation of a judge’s opinion. Now the stakes were higher and it was infuriating.

“See, I was wrong to become your friend, Foggy.”

A dagger right through the heart.

“I…I put you in danger and it was selfish of me. Now, I…I can’t change the past but I can stop making the same mistake.”

A separate dagger through every vital organ in his body.

“We’re done, buddy. It’s, uh…it’s over.”

Foggy wanted to scream, and scream even more because Matt had been _telling the truth_ —he wasn’t back. Something was missing or broken or…Foggy glared through the tears as Matt stood up. “There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered. “Stay clear of Fisk. Tell Karen to do the same, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her you saw me.”

Yeah, well, Foggy was already mentally cancelling tomorrow’s lunch meeting so he could track down Karen because Matt Murdock might be clinically incapable of learning from past mistakes, but the same could not be said of Foggy Nelson.

It occurred to him, slowly, that he could follow Matt. Probably couldn’t _catch_ Matt. Guy was a ninja, after all. But he could follow. Which wouldn’t do much good except Matt would definitely hear him. Matt would know he was following. Maybe that would mean something.

But Foggy was too drunk and his ears were ringing, maybe from the metaphorical whiplash between joy at seeing Matt alive and pain from all those daggers. By the time he got off the stool, he realized he didn’t even know which way Matt had gone.

Well. He’d tried.


	5. You're Worth Facing Any Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, HAPPINESS. Also, Matt and Karen talk. Set after S3.

Karen

She adjusted her scarf against the crisp air. The cold from the wooden park bench seeped into her legs and Matt’s warmth was so close. But for now, they were just sitting parallel—no physical contact.

Foggy hadn’t actually told them to kiss and make up, but it had been a near thing. Something about suffocating on general tension and sexual tension in particular. She figured he’d said it trying to make Matt embarrassed enough to do something, and Matt had indeed flushed bright red. But mostly, the oversimplification just made Karen angry. Then Foggy had taken one look at her face and retreated into the storage room at the butcher shop while Matt hovered uncertainly beside her.

“Should we talk?”

Now they were on a park bench because Karen thought parks were better than a therapist’s office and because Matt needed to spend more time in actual sunlight.

And…well, they were talking. Picking their way through a landmine of secrets and lies. Specifically, he was telling her about his teacher. He’d told her about Stick once before, but only to the extent that the training explained his fighting abilities. He hadn’t told her anything about…the rest of it.

Matt twisted one of her hair ties—he’d stolen several of them since they’d started working together again—between his fingers, stretching his hand to cause the elastic to strain and letting it snap back. Maybe it was supposed to be calming, but he didn’t look very calm. “It’s just…he had a way of getting in my head, you know?”

An echo of something he’d said before. “You told me you didn’t think you listened.”

“But I couldn’t _not_ listen. He…” his voice took on a pleading note. “He was all I had.”

Please, Karen, understand.

She did. She did.

She put her hand carefully over his and the erratic movement stilled. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?” she asked.

“No?”

“He thinks I ruin everything.” Then she groaned. “That sounds juvenile, I know. But I’m serious. He thinks…he thinks every time I try to fix something, I just make it worse.” She looked away even though it wouldn’t make a difference; she could avoid his eyes but not the rest of his senses. “And he’s right.”

Matt made an expression like he was horrified by the very idea. “You’re not—”

“Everyone I get close to ends up dead, Matt. That’s not me being dramatic; that’s a fact. Like I tried to fix things with Fisk the first time, and Ben ended up—”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” she shot back.

He opened his mouth.

“No, don’t say anything. Don’t put me on a pedestal, I can’t…I can’t stand it.”

Then he pressed his lips together. “All right.”

“All right?”

“All right. I won’t argue. But I…I just wish you didn’t see yourself that way,” he ended in a mumble.

She narrowed her eyes pointedly. “It’s hard, isn’t it? When someone has no right to affect you anymore, and you _know_ it, but still you can’t just…”

“Sometimes I think Stick knew me better than anyone.” He sounded like he was daring her to challenge the truth of that statement. “I couldn’t discount anything he said.”

“Can you discount it now?”

“I think I can.” He shrugged half-heartedly and gave a wry smile. “But then, I thought I’d left his advice behind before, and clearly…”

“Some voices just have a way of sticking around.”

“Yeah.”

There it was again: weight-of-the-world-on-his-shoulders Matt. Only this time, she knew enough about that weight that she might be able to actually help.

After all, she’d been wrong before. Matt really wasn’t that far from normal, all things considered. At least, he could be a lot farther from normal if he wanted. Or forget _wanting_ , he’d fall away from normalcy if he just let himself slip, let his guard down, stopped actively challenging everything that had been drilled into him when he was ten years old.

“Well,” she said firmly. “I think it’s impressive.”

“What is?”

“It’s incredible enough that you fight off criminals. But I think it’s even more impressive that you still try to fight off everything Stick’s told you.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t—can we not—”

“Just—just accept the compliment, would you?”

For a moment, he stayed completely still. She couldn’t tell if he was letting himself absorb the kindness or if he was actively restraining himself from parkouring away. Then he bowed his head a little. “Stick isn’t all we need to talk about.”

“No,” she agreed, but she didn’t give him more than that, wanting to see how much he’d offer before she had to dig.

“I know I hurt you with the secrets about what I can do—”

“And I understand that much now,” she cut in, “even if I don’t agree with it.”

“But I know I also hurt you because of Elektra.”

There it was.

“We were going to run away together,” he said softly, suddenly. “Before she died the, uh, the first time. I told her I’d follow her anywhere.”

Oh.

“We were gonna die. We were sure of it. And I guess we just needed something to look forward to. London, Madrid, Tunisia. I…it was insane and I don’t think I really believed it, but I had to try. I had to have something to fight for.”

To live for. That was what he meant. He’d needed something to live for, but Nelson and Murdock had fallen apart along with what remained of her friendship towards him.

“It was more than that, though,” he continued, eyes flicking around as if he were living in some memory. “She knew. From the beginning. About what I could do. I was free with her. Like with no one else. She accepted who I was. I thought.” Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Obviously, she didn’t really accept the…my…Matt Murdock. But I could picture running off with her and just leaving everything else behind. At the time, I didn’t think there was much of my life left to leave.”

“Why’re you telling me this, Matt?”

“Because you need to know what she meant to me.” He let the words hang there for a moment. “And you need to know that I understand I’m asking for a lot, asking you to overlook what she was to me even while you and I were together.”

“It’s not that simple.”

He tapped his thumb against the wood of the bench. “I know. There’s really nothing else I can say. It’s your choice, Karen.” He did that thing, that slight head twitch with raised eyebrows that meant he’d rested his case and was waiting for the other person’s verdict.

It was her choice. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have a few more questions first.

 

Matt

Karen wasn’t giving up on him. That much was clear from the way she shifted until her posture was closer to his, but still stiff. She was looking at him like a reporter: not like a friend, but not like an enemy either. He hadn’t convinced her yet, but she wasn’t walking away.

The problem was, Matt still couldn’t come up with a complete explanation for how Elektra managed to affect him so intensely. There was something unnerving about processing this out loud, to her, before he’d sorted it out in the privacy in his own head. But he owed it to her to try. Before he could second-guess himself, he took her hand to stabilize himself. “She wasn’t…good for me.”

“Clearly,” Karen huffed, but she didn’t pull out of his grasp.

“Not as in whether or not she helped me or made me a better person or something. That was probably the last thing she was worried about. I mean she tried to be good _for my sake_ and it almost destroyed us both.”

“She tried to be good?” Karen echoed incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“A good person,” he said heavily. “She tried to be a good person. And she had that potential, you know? I could just…I could feel it. It was there. I just had to draw it out of her.” While keeping all the dark forces flocking around her at bay. Maybe he could’ve done one or the other. But both? Apparently that was beyond his abilities.

“Did you sleep with her?”

His pulse skyrocketed under her palm. Could she tell? “You’ll, uh, have to be more specific.”

“While we were dating, Matt. Remember that?”

He winced. Remember that? Remember kissing her in the rain, remember calling her girlfriend? Yes, he remembered that beautiful thing they’d been building. He remembered it perfectly. “No,” he said quickly. “Elektra and I were…from before. College.”

“She was in your bed,” Karen said in a measured voice, and he couldn’t tell if she was choosing to believe the best or the worst.

“She’d, ah, been poisoned.”

“Poisoned.”

“By ninjas,” he said weakly.

It was inappropriate, but Karen burst out laughing. “Ninjas. Of _course_.”

“You believe me?”

“After everything else that’s happened, you think ninjas are where I’d draw the line?”

“They were pretty much where Foggy drew the line.”

“I think you and Foggy need to talk things out with a stenographer or something, because I’m positive you keep missing half of what the other person says.”

“You weren’t there,” he said darkly.

But she refused to get sidetracked into more drama and he kind of loved her for it. “Even if you didn’t sleep with Elektra, you chose her. Over me. Every time you disappeared on Foggy and me to go fight ninjas or whatever with her. You see that, don’t you?”

His skin grew hot with shame and he quickly turned his head away, towards the rest of the park. A little boy was licking a vanilla ice cream cone. Sugar grains, vanilla bean, milk from three different dairies. “I’m sorry, Karen. You deserved better.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” she said sharply. “You should tell me why, though. What did she have that I didn’t?”

“That’s…that’s not…that’s not what it was about.”

“Really? Because I’m not convinced.”

He closed his eyes. “I told you. I could be myself with her in a way that wasn’t really possible with you, or even with Foggy. By that point, Foggy knew too, but he wasn’t exactly…he wasn’t exactly _welcoming_ of my abilities.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I would’ve been, you know.”

His eyes snapped open. He wished he could see her face.

“But you never gave me that chance.”

“I am now,” he promised. “I told you about Daredevil, I—”

“But you _still_ chose her, Matt, even after you told me the truth!”

He almost flinched from the fire in her voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Midland Circle. Foggy told me Elektra was there. You were fighting her. She killed your mentor.”

Matt actually did wince and hoped, selfishly, that she hadn’t noticed. “Yeah. Yeah, she was there.”

“You still didn’t tell me.” Anger lanced through her words. “I was right there at the precinct and you didn’t tell me anything.”

“Because I’d already lied,” he shot back. “I told you I wasn’t being Daredevil anymore, and I lied. And you were angry enough once you found out. I couldn’t…I wasn’t going to spill my guts over the fact that Elektra had been somehow _resurrected_ after she’d _died in my arms_.”

Karen pulled her hand away with a tiny gasp. “What?”

“Did Foggy leave that part out?” Matt asked acerbically. “Figures. He hated her too.”

There was the small sound of Karen chewing on her pencil. In other circumstances, he would’ve found it adorable. “I’m so sorry, Matt.”

He clenched his jaw. “Yeah. Well.”

She fell silent.

Forcing himself to breath evenly, he shrugged. “It’s just…like I said, she wanted to be good, and it was like the whole universe was conspiring to keep her from anything good. Except me. She still had me. If I’d just known that someone— _anyone_ —else cared about her, maybe it…it would’ve been easier for me to…” he stopped talking.

“To what?” Karen asked disbelievingly. “Leave her under that building?”

“To not follow her there in the first place.”

She scoffed. “You would’ve gone under no matter what.”

“ _Fine_ ,” he said exasperatedly. It was possible that rewinding his life and picking it apart for analysis really wasn’t one of his strengths. “I don’t know what it would’ve changed. But something. It would’ve changed something.”

She just gave a thoughtful hum.

“I’m sorry, though. All those excuses are just—”

“I prefer to think of them as explanations,” she said lightly.

“I’m still sorry.” Tentatively, he brushed his thumb over her hand. To his shock, her hand flipped over, fingers entwining with his. He’d be content to sit like that forever, probably, but her stomach gave a tiny rumble. “You hungry?”

“A little,” she admitted hesitantly.

“Our place?”

There. Her temperature rose, flushing warmly, although her voice didn’t give anything away. “Sounds good.” Standing up, she extended her arm slightly. “I’ll lead you.”

 

She settled in across from him at the Indian restaurant. They’d both been here enough that neither needed to use the menus. They placed their orders and she sipped at her drink. “The first time we came here, you had me describe it, all the things you couldn’t see.”

He tilted his head curiously.

“I want you to tell me what this place is like for you.”

“Really?”

“Why not? Let’s hear it, Murdock.”

He cleared his throat. “Okay. Well, I can’t see all the chili pepper lights you told me about, but I can feel them. The heat of them.” Thousands of tiny suns surrounding them with their warmth. “And of course it smells…it smells amazing.”

She laughed. “I could’ve told you that.”

Snorting, he grinned. “Right, but I can smell the spices all the way in the kitchen. There’s so _much_ of it, and it’s all so good. I mean, I can also smell way too much of that woman’s perfume…”

“Which?”

“Four o’clock with the chicken curry. It’s okay; I can filter it out. But if I stop filtering…” he closed his eyes. “I hear everything outside. Four sirens. People fighting. Someone just screamed, but I think…she was just startled. She’s not in danger.” He opened his eyes; it didn’t make a difference to him, but he wanted her to know he was paying attention to her. “With you, it’s easier to block it all out.”

“Why?” she whispered.

He grimaced. “Is it creepy to say that I find everything about you soothing?”

“ _Soothing_ , huh. Not the word most people would use, I think.”

“It grounds me,” he explained quietly. “ _You_ ground me, Karen. And I know I have no right to expect that, and I swear, you’re not the only one. I have Foggy and my…my mother.” He wasn’t putting this all on her. Even if, for some reason, she let him, he refused to put her in that position.

She took another sip of her drink. “You know, I think I might get it.”

“Get what?”

“You and Elektra. With what you’ve told me, it isn’t that surprising. You’ve always prioritized the person who needs your help the most. For a while, that was me. Then it was her.”

He opened his mouth to argue that Karen had never _not_ been a priority. But he swallowed it back. He was done lying to her even to protect himself.

“It wasn’t okay,” she went on. “But I get it.” Then she leaned closer over the table. “And if you asked me, I think I’d forgive you for it.”

 

Foggy

It wasn’t quite the same as before, this new place. It was a bit bigger, thanks to Foggy’s larger bank account. He and Matt each had their own office and so did Karen, with a foyer between the three.

“It smells like wet paint,” Matt complained.

Foggy flicked a paperclip at him. “Shut up, Murdock.”

“And painter’s tape residue.”

“You know you loved it.”

Matt grinned. He obviously loved it.

Karen burst into the office in a flurry of scarves and paperwork and mochas. “So I cross-referenced Mr. Scott’s design specs with the company’s official blueprints and it all matches up, so I don’t think a manufacturing defect is to blame for that broken forklift. But it looks like at least two competing companies follow a different weight ratio, so we might be able to prove that it was a design defect.” She deposited the paperwork on her desk and efficiently passed out the mochas. “If we add failure to warn and failure to give adequate instruction, I think we’ve got a pretty solid case.”

Matt accepted his coffee with a slightly stunned look on his face.

“Good work,” Foggy interrupted, swiftly stepping on Matt’s foot before he could call her a goddess or something again. Ugh. He’d told them to go talk about their feelings two days ago and now they were blushing every time the other one so much as coughed in their direction.

“I mean,” Karen swept on, barely catching her breath, “after working there for so many years, Mr. Scott, would have no reason to expect the lift to break apart like that, and given that _even though_ he’s the one who crashed the lift in the first place, the designers should’ve made their models crashworthy enough that—”

Matt blinked. “Are you citing the consumer expectations test right now?”

She flashed an impish grin in Foggy’s direction. “I learn from the best.”

Matt shot Foggy a wounded look. “You taught her about products liability without me?”

“I’m training her to replace you, Murdock. Suck it up.”

“Objection,” Matt protested.

“Overruled,” Karen said immediately.

They grow up so fast.

 

Matt was standing outside Foggy’s door, fiddling with the strap on his cane, head tilted down.

“What’s up?” Foggy asked, trying to sound lighthearted and not at all suspicious. He didn’t need to panic every time Matt looked nervous. He _didn’t_.

“I was just, uh…”

Spit it out, Murdock.

Matt angled his face towards Foggy and seemed to make a consorted effort to make eye contact. He got pretty close, too. “Now that the last boxes are unpacked and we’re settled in for good, I…I was wondering if you could show me around the place.”

Foggy ignored the sting of unexpected but very manly tears. “Sure, buddy. No problem.” He went to stand next to Matt, who slipped his hand around his elbow. “I’m not as cute as the realtor,” he warned.

“You’re cute enough.”

“How would you know?”

“Karen,” he said simply.

He rolled his eyes, but he started giving Matt the grand tour anyway, making a point of inventing all sorts of things Matt couldn’t verify. “It’s a stained-glass window, Matt. It’s a picture of baby Jesus.”

“It’s not.”

“It is. We’re gonna have to replace the whole thing once Christmas is over.” He squinted. “What are you smiling about? Surely not the exorbitant costs of replacing this window for every major holiday.”

“Not that. Just…this.”

A vague statement, but that was both typical and immaterial. Foggy knew what he meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: the consumer expectations test would not actually be applicable in this case (I don't think) because the specifications of a forklift are too complex for a jury of ordinary consumers to understand*. Karen suggests that their client would use his knowledge of forklifts to form his expectation, but his relatively unique experience means he isn't an ordinary consumer at all. The risk-utility test would've been required in this case, and I tried to write about it instead, but honestly it either sounded unbelievably obvious ("does the risk outweigh the utility?") which would undermine the value of Foggy coaching her, or be mind-numbingly dull (because the test requires balancing 7 factors that barely vary from each other).
> 
> So yeah, I'm just assuming Foggy will give Matt the chance to coach her through the consumer expectation test's limited applicability at some point (once Matt stops being generally in awe of her). In the meantime, plz don't sue me thanks.
> 
> *unless they brought in expert witnesses, but tbh I highly doubt Nelson and Murdock can afford that and in this made-up case of my own invention, their case is strong enough that they shouldn't need to.

**Author's Note:**

> Story and chapter titles from "All of Me" by Matt Hammitt (and can we stop and appreciate the aesthetic of that guy's name because seriously.)
> 
> Also, DDLover, if you can hang onto this fic long enough, I promise I'll get to the Stick and Elektra conversations because your detailed comment from "Can't We Trust Again" totally inspired me!


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